Catch Me When I Fall
by VoyICJ
Summary: With Anna in prison, Mrs. Hughes struggles with her role in the downstair's family. No spoilers for the CS.
1. Chapter 1

While everyone else is busy coming up with insanely beautiful Christmas stories (which I love to bits!), my brain comes up with this… I should probably utter an **angst warning.** There are no spoilers for the CS in this!

Thank you **kouw** for once again being the most amazing beta on the planet!

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><p>It was a lone figure that made its way through the abysmal Yorkshire weather. Mrs. Hughes pulled her drenched woollen coat closer around her as the wind whipped more rain into her face.<p>

It had been on impulse that she had asked for a halfday this morning. Her first one in nearly six months. Mr. Carson had been so surprised by the request that all he had been able to do was nod his assent.

She had needed out of the house, out of her position. Out of the stifling corset that being Housekeeper, being Mrs. Hughes, was. She needed to be out in the open, to walk. To freely decide where to go and what to think and when to cry. She had actually hoped for this kind of weather, torrential rain and howling winds. Anything that would help her feel alive and then numb her.

It wasn't really cold, not in late August, not even in the heavy rain. But she had been walking for close to five hours and exhaustion mixed with the heavy wetness of her clothes caused her to shiver. Her initial plan had been to walk until her mind was blank, until she'd finally manage to sink into bed and fall asleep without worries and dark thoughts eating away at her.

But now, hours later, she was faced with the realization that she'd be able to walk the whole length of Britain and the dark thoughts still wouldn't leave her alone.

Bitter disappointment mixed with overwhelming fatigue. Immobilizing concerns overlapped with a despairing feeling of loneliness.

"_Come, Mrs. Hughes, this isn't like you." _

The sentence kept reverberating through her mind. The way in which it was spoken branded in her mind. "This isn't like you…" Who gave him the right to judge what was like her when she herself wasn't sure anymore? Ten years… even one year ago she would have had a clear idea of what and who she was. She had been Elsie Hughes, proud Housekeeper of Downton Abbey. Self-sufficient woman, satisfied with her station in life, with its discipline and the opportunities it awarded her (being called Mrs., actually having earned that title through hard work, respected by peers). She hadn't cried about missed chances, about not having children of her own, no husband to look after. At least not often.

But that had been before. Before all the secrets, the worry, the fear and the heartache. Before she had come to realize that while people readily (and not so readily) accepted her caring, her gentle interferences, they were reluctant to reciprocate them. Reluctant because in the end she was nothing but the Housekeeper, nothing but a business venture. She had no right to feel this desperate about her Anna. Because she wasn't hers, had never been hers. She was Mr. Bates' Anna and that was why people fussed over him, lightened his workload, prepared his favourite dishes for dinner. He was allowed to be overwhelmed by worry and sadness. She wasn't.

"_This isn't like you." _

So what if she had – only for a moment – wanted to wallow in the tragedy of what was happening around her?

He had probably assumed that her tentative smile at the end of their talk had meant that she agreed with him. And she had been grateful; grateful that this time his words had at least been intended to be encouraging. Only later, only when he hadn't made an effort to get behind her broken musings, had her perception of his words shifted.

"_There's no need to get sentimental!" _

His words had been less harsh this time, certainly, but to her the message stayed the same. "Pull yourself together, Mrs. Hughes. I can't deal with this kind of behaviour from you. You need to be strong."

The only time Elsie Hughes had ever tried to imitate the fits of temper the upper class girls sometimes displayed in the village had ended with a hard backhanded slap across her face and wise words of her mother. _"Elsie,"_ her mother's voice echoed in her mind. _"Stop this racket this instance, no one appreciates a weak woman. Crying and fainting is for the upper classes, lass. Our lot shakes these things off." _

She had lived by them religiously.

Only now it was getting harder to pretend, to mask what she was slowly starting to see as her real personality. She didn't possess indefinite strength. Sometimes, sometimes she longed for someone to share the burden. Someone who made everything better for her, because he cared for her, because she didn't have to be invincible and unfeeling all the time. Someone to catch her when she fell. Someone who didn't see her as an opportunity for a business venture, as cheap labour for the farm, as the only woman who could be trusted to really keep a secret (and she had failed, even at that.)

She was only good and useful as long as she functioned in her role. She just wasn't sure how much longer she could keep fulfilling her duty. Sometimes she feared she'd snap and there was no one either willing or capable of picking up the pieces if this happened.

So she kept walking. Hoping that the rain whipping in her face would at least manage to numb her pain if it didn't manage to blank her mind.

In a flight of desperation (and she truly feared she was going mad) she wished for herself to slip, to break her neck, to end this downward spiral once and for all. To let all of them try and cope on their own. (They would manage, she was sure of that. They had done before she had entered their lives; they'd have no trouble doing so again after she had left it)

She stumbled over a tree root, caught herself (always left to catch herself) and shook her head in annoyance. She should head back before she went completely round the bend. With a little luck there'd be few servants downstairs at this time of the day. Sunset was only minutes away. They should all be in bed or at least caught up with late-evening duties. She'd be able to slip inside without anyone noticing.

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><p>She entered the Abbey quietly – only the sucking noise of her wet boots could be heard as she crept along the hallway.<p>

"Mrs. Hughes!"

She stopped, closing her eyes briefly. Just her luck. The one time she craved solitude, he'd be there. She turned around to face him, tried to discern the look on his face. Indignation? Horror? Worry? She couldn't be sure.

"What on Earth happened to you?" he asked, his eyes raking over body as he took in her drenched clothes, hair plastered to her face underneath her hat.

"It's raining," she replied dryly.

"You look as if you've spent the complete afternoon in the rain."

She averted her eyes briefly, gnawing on her lower lip and his eyes widened in horrification.

"What on earth were you thinking? Get out of those clothes this minute or you'll catch your death," he thundered.

She looked back at him. How easy it would be to tease him. To say something about sounding risqué.

But what was the point? She was tired of this game between them, of the budding hope, the bitter disappointment. Interpreting meanings into his words that weren't there. Couldn't be there – because he still knew who he was and what his role was. It wasn't fair of her to blame him for being content with his life and its restraints.

She caught his disapproving glance as he took in the mud and water she had dragged in.

"I'll have this cleaned up."

"All your maids have gone to bed," he replied.

"I'll do it myself then," she exclaimed, annoyance creeping into her voice.

"No, I'll do it. You really need to get warmed up," he said and she felt some of her anger melt at his concern.

"Thank you Mr. Carson. But I'm sure five more minutes in the wet clothes won't kill me. It's not your job to sweep the floors."

"Well, I'd rather spent five minutes cleaning up after your mess than spend the next days without a Housekeeper because your stubbornness has landed you in bed."

Not concern then, simply practicality.

"Alright, in that case I will head up now. Goodnight, Mr. Carson."

"Goodnight, Mrs. Hughes," he replied. She didn't catch the worried look on his face as he followed her way up the stairs with his eyes.

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><p>There will be more (and at some point happier) updates. They should be fairly regular because most of the story is written and I want to have it finished by the time the CS airs (for obvious reasons). Reviews mean the world to me so please leave one if you have the time. Thank you!<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you so much for your lovely reviews and encouraging words! And thanks as always to **kouw **for making this so much better than it would be without her help.

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><p>For the next few days Charles Carson tried to puzzle out what was wrong with the Housekeeper. She was perfectly polite, her work left nothing to be desired, but she was different. Withdrawn somehow. She hardly spent any time in the Servants' Hall. There were no shared glasses of sherry at night; he had seen Mrs. Patmore bustling into her friend's sitting room with trays full of tea a couple of times, only to return a few short minutes later, the tea untouched.<p>

He had briefly spoken to the Cook but the fact that she didn't know what was going on with the Housekeeper either did nothing to reassure him. She looked pale and tired, the spark was gone from her eyes.

He knew that Anna's arrest had hurt her deeply, that she felt the loss of the young woman second only to Mr. Bates. He had deliberately not mentioned the arrest in the past weeks. He was certain that no good could come of it; didn't want to bring up her pain and fear again.

He watched her closely as she sat down for breakfast. She listlessly nibbled at her piece of toast, not really eating it. His observation of her was interrupted by the late arrival of the mail. He distributed the mail until he came to the last envelope. His eyes widened slightly before he quickly tucked the letter into his pocket. He looked around to see whether anyone had noticed his strange move, but no one had. Not even she, because she was too busy staring off into the distance. Most unlike her.

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><p>After breakfast she made her way to her sitting room, intent on working on her ledgers for a few moments. She sighed when the Butler's customary short knock rang against her door. She turned around in her swivel chair to face him when he entered. He looked nervous, she thought.<p>

"This came for you in the morning post," he said hesitantly, holding out a letter to her. "I didn't think you'd want to receive it in front of the others."

She raised her eyebrows at his cryptic words, but got up and took the letter from his hand.

He studied her intently as she looked at the letter and in alarm he watched how the last bit of colour drained from her face.

_Scotland Yard_. She felt her stomach knotting up, an icy fist of dread closing around her heart. She ripped the letter open and her eyes flew over the few, short lines.

This couldn't be happening again, she couldn't be forced to go through this again. Another hearing. Another instance of her being forced to condemn a person she cared for. It had taken Anna months to forgive her for speaking the truth against Mr. Bates. It would take until hell froze over for Elsie to forgive herself if she played even a tiny role in Anna's wrongful conviction.

Charles Carson watched the emotions raging over the Housekeeper's face with growing concern. She had begun shaking, her breathing unsteady.

"Mrs. Hughes?" he asked softly, careful not to startle her.

Just as quickly as her shaking had started, it stopped again. She looked up at him with dull eyes.

"They want me as part of the official hearing against Anna," she explained in a toneless voice.

"That was to be expected, you are her superior after all," he replied matter-of-factly and watched as she tensed at his words. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she replied coldly. "If you'll excuse me, I must get on with my work."

"You've just had a nasty shock, maybe you should…," he began softly but she interrupted him.

"I'm perfectly capable of doing my work, thank you very much." She turned and walked back towards her desk.

He was left standing in the middle of her parlour. Charles Carson was convinced that he should do something, that he should offer some kind of encouragement.

But she seemed unwilling to receive it at the moment and he thought it best not to push her now. He'd make sure that the maids didn't bother her with any unnecessary requests and that the family discussed all arising issues with him first. With a last, sad look at her back, he silently left the room.

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><p>As soon as she heard the door closing after him, she grabbed the edges of her desk for support. Another hearing, another day spent in that dreadful courthouse, another day spent trying to mind her words, only to walk straight into the prosecution's trap.<p>

She'd be responsible for Anna going to jail, she could feel it. She wasn't strong enough for this. Wasn't strong enough, not detached enough to censor her words. She would probably blurt out something in Anna's defence only to realize that she had unwittingly aided the prosecution.

Her breaths came out in short, sharp gasps as panic overwhelmed her body. She felt her stomach contracting, nausea rendering her dizzy. She wildly looked around herself before snatching up the closest flower vase, throwing the bouquet of dried wildflowers to the floor (a gift from Anna, many years ago, a thank you for her kindness, her support). She shakily sank to her knees as she emptied the contents of her stomach into the flower vase – barely able to catch her breath during the almost violent upheavals.

When her body was done rejecting the shock and the heaving finally stopped, she leant back against her desk. Her physical reaction to the letter left her drained. She felt tears pressing against her eyelids, but she refused to allow them to fall. She would have to be strong, for Anna, for the family – but most of all for herself. She'd do no one a favour if she fell apart now.

So she squared her shoulders and went about her day. Like any good Housekeeper would.

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><p>In the course of the day she found out that she wasn't the only one whom the prosecution had called up for the hearing. Lady Mary and Mr. Bates had also been summoned. The Housekeeper had to admit that she was a bit surprised that Ms. Baxter hadn't been included in the list – but she was glad that the gentle woman would be spared from having to make a statement against her co-worker. Both Lady Mary and Mr. Bates would take a trip to the prison the next day to meet with Anna and discuss an appropriate plan of action. No one had thought to include her.<p>

By the time dinner was served for the servants, Mrs. Hughes was more than ready for the day to be over. Her stomach hadn't fully settled again after this mornings' shock and she wasn't really looking forward to one of Mrs. Patmore's tasty but heavy meals.

She was pleasantly surprised therefore when, instead of the stew the Cook had talked about making for this night's dinner, a terrine of clear broth was put on the table. There were pieces of chicken and vegetables in separate bowls – which could be added if anyone was so inclined. Mrs. Hughes gratefully spooned the clear broth and nibbled on a piece of bread.

She missed the look that passed between Butler and Cook. There was no need for her to know that he had heard her retching, that he had waited in front of her room, listening for any sounds of distress coming from her parlour. There was no need for her to know that it had torn at his heart to listen to her physical reaction to the shock – that it had hurt him even more that he had found himself rooted to the spot, unable to go inside, unsure whether she'd appreciate his intrusion at that moment.

So all he had been able to do was seek out the Cook and ask for a dinner that would help settle an upset stomach, or at least not aggravate it further. Mrs. Patmore had agreed quickly, no questions asked and he had been grateful for the Cook's support.

He hated that he had to resort to these kinds of measures again – operating in the background because he was unsure of how much involvement of his she would allow, how much she would allow herself to rely on him this time. With a heavy heart he realized that he only had himself to blame for that. But she wouldn't be alone in this; he would make sure of that. Even if it meant going behind her back again.

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><p>I'd love to hear what you think. So, please leave a review if you have a few moments. Thank you so much!<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Late the next afternoon she had holed herself up in her parlour, pouring over linen rotas and order lists – anything that would keep her mind busy and stop her from fretting about Lady Mary and Mr. Bates' visit to the prison, about how they would find Anna when they got there.

Her work was interrupted when Mr. Carson entered her sanctuary, looking both apologetic and worried.

"Lady Mary has asked for you to join her in the library," he informed her quietly.

Mrs. Hughes gave a curt nod and after having taken a deep, steadying breath made her way upstairs.

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><p>"You asked to see me, milady," she opened after she had entered the library.<p>

Lady Mary was still in her travelling outfit and tightly held onto the cup of tea in her hands. If Elsie Hughes hadn't known Lady Mary to be incapable of the emotion, she would have thought that the young Lady looked apprehensive.

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes. As you probably know we went to see Anna today," Lady Mary began and her voice was just as coolly detached as it always was.

"How is Anna?" Mrs. Hughes inquired quietly.

"Much as you'd expect," Lady Mary replied curtly, not really wanting to go into detail about how drawn and small Anna had looked in that horrendous grey prison uniform. How the young woman had tried to be so strong for her husband and her employer but how every pore of her being had exuded desperation. "We had Mr. Murray with us, to help us come up with a strategy for the hearing. I think it calmed Anna to be able to talk to him about what to expect."

"I'm sure it did," Mrs. Hughes said – unsure of why the other woman was almost fidgeting nervously as she recounted the prison visit. Lady Mary caught herself quickly and appraised the Housekeeper with her icy blue eyes.

"Your name has come up in the discussion and certain… doubts have been expressed about your testimony."

At this Mrs. Hughes tensed.

"Anna is worried about what you'll say – given how your testimony in Mr. Bates' case was so… infelicitous, I suppose you could say."

In Lady Mary's defence, she did look uncomfortable relaying this afternoon's conversation but that didn't soften the blow for the Housekeeper. She felt as if she had been slapped. It was one thing for her to be apprehensive, but for Anna to actually be afraid of Mrs. Hughes' role in the hearing, for her to more or less expect the Housekeeper to fail at providing an exonerating testimony hurt worse than she could have expected.

"I see," she replied flatly and there really was nothing more to say for her.

"Mr. Murray thought it might be a good idea to have a few practice sessions – if you will – before the hearing. He'd confront you in much the same way the prosecution will presumably do. You wouldn't be having these sessions alone, of course. Mr. Bates and I would have separate sessions with Mr. Murray as well. No one of us wants Anna in prison for any longer than she has to be."

"Of course not," Mrs. Hughes agreed – her voice flat, toneless.

"Good, it will be a relief for Anna to know that this has been settled. That will be all then, Mrs. Hughes."

The Housekeeper nodded briefly before leaving the room again on shaking legs. She willed her body to keep her upright until she had reached her parlour. Once back inside she stood in the middle of the room, allowing a feeling of emptiness to envelope her. Emptiness was good, was wanted – was the only thing that would allow her to go on now.

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><p>He had noticed her strange behaviour when she had returned from her conversation with Lady Mary. He had seen the dull, empty look in her eyes, the pallor of her skin. His inquiries after her well-being had been firmly rebuffed by her, her body tense, her voice defensive.<p>

Nevertheless, after dinner he ventured into her parlour and asked whether she'd join him for a glass of sherry. She had briefly looked like she'd decline but then she had surprised him by agreeing. He poured her a healthy dose and settled himself in the chair opposite of her.

"Are you feeling a bit more yourself?" he asked softly.

_Like yourself_. If only she knew what that was. But she couldn't ask him about his view of her; dreaded the answer too much. Was afraid of words like hard-working, diligent, reliable being thrown around.

"I wasn't aware that I wasn't myself," she replied. A blatant lie.

He sighed quietly. Another wall. He thought about what she had always done to break through his defences, how she had always managed to draw him out. He put his sherry glass onto the table and fixed her with his eyes.

"Mrs. Hughes, I should like to repeat some words to you that I have told you a long time ago if I may," he began slowly.

She withstood the urge to say that she was agog or some such nonsense, simply clasped her hands firmly in her lap and forced herself to keep looking at him. She gave a short nod in acquiescence.

His rich, brown eyes seemed to bore into her before he finally spoke again. "I am always on your side, Mrs. Hughes. Always. I'd like you to remember that even if you do not wish for my help."

"Why?" The question was out before she had time to think about it.

"What do you mean, why?" he asked in confusion.

"Why would you always be on my side?" she repeated her question, not sure which answer to expect, which answer to hope for. She knew it was an impossible question to ask, but she needed to know.

"I… well….," he was fumbling, his face colouring a light red. "Because we… I mean… ."

In the end she took pity on him. "It's alright Mr. Carson, it was wrong of me to ask. It's a nice sentiment and I thank you for saying it."

He exhaled harshly. Painfully aware that he had just missed another – possibly vital – chance. Another moment gone.

"Well then, I'll say goodnight," he offered quietly when she didn't take him up on his veiled offer of unburdening herself to him. She nodded, reciprocating his wish for a good night.

When the door closed behind him, she brought a shaking hand to her mouth and pressed her eyes closed as she fought the urge to cry uncontrollably.

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><p>Thanks to all of you who are still reading this - I'll admit - slightly depressing story. I promise that this was the last truly angsty chapter. Your reviews really mean a lot to me, so please leave one if you have the time.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you **kouw** – without you there'd be mysterious glasses everywhere in this story and I'd know a lot less about the possessive s.

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><p>Charles Carson grabbed his bowler tightly in his hands. It was nearly time to leave and he had to admit to being slightly nervous. He really wasn't sure what her reaction would be.<p>

For the past three weeks he had watched Mrs. Hughes and the others going through their meetings with Mr. Murray. While Mr. Bates and Lady Mary seemed nearly unfazed by the whole business, Mrs. Hughes always returned deathly pale and visibly shaken.

He had done whatever was in his power to lighten her workload but on the one occasion on which she had caught him, he had gotten a firm clipping 'round the ear and was sent off on his way. She also didn't allow many nightly meetings, always claiming that she was tired.

Not that he didn't believe that she was tired. She looked like she wasn't sleeping too well – if at all.

The Housekeeper had not said anything else to him about her involvement in Anna's case. He hadn't really expected her to. She had kept this secret for so long that she probably wouldn't even know how to share it now. The only thing he had been able to gather – from Lady Mary – was that the regular meetings with Mr. Murray had come into existence because Anna and Mr. Bates were worried about Mrs. Hughes' testimony. He had bristled at that insult, had actually mentioned his misgivings about the younger couples' unfair treatment of the Housekeeper to Lady Mary.

The young Lady had simply studied him silently for a few moments before replying that he surely couldn't fault Mr. and Mrs. Bates for wanting to be careful. He had – most reluctantly – agreed with Lady Mary, but in reality he still felt that Mrs. Hughes didn't deserve this kind of behaviour. Surely they others were able to see how much this whole business with Anna weighed on her.

After gleaning those facts, he was even more intent on supporting her – on forcing his help onto her if he had to. He was aware that his actions could be considered selfish – but he couldn't bring himself to stop.

Therefore, he had gone to her Ladyship two days earlier and asked to be allowed to accompany Mrs. Hughes and Lady Mary to York for the hearing. He had told Lady Grantham that he didn't think that the two women should make the journey by themselves. While Mr. Bates may be with them initially, he would probably stay on after the hearing. His Lordship was unable to go because of pressing estate business that required his and Mr. Branson's presence (after all Lady Mary couldn't be there).

Her Ladyship had looked at him intently for a few moments (and he got the strong impression that she understood his true motives, that she could tell everything from the tense set of his shoulders and jaw) before she had agreed with him. He had breathed a sigh of relief and promised that Mr. Barrow and Mr. Molesley were more than capable of looking after the family for one evening.

With a deep breath he put his bowler on his head and marched towards her sitting room. He gave a curt knock before entering. She stood in front of her looking glass, adjusting her scarf.

"Are you ready to go?" he asked, his voice belying none of his nervousness. She spun around to face him, taking in his travel attire.

"What do you mean?" Her mouth was a straight line.

"I will be going with you. Her Ladyship thought it would be best if I was there to look after you and Lady Mary."

Of course, Lady Mary. She shook her head, fighting her annoyance about his presence. Naturally he would want to make sure that Lady Mary was looked after. And if she, herself, had played a small part in his wish to come to York today, she shouldn't fault him for it. He meant well.

"Well then, I guess we'd best be off."

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><p>The drive to York had been in silence. Mr. Bates had taken the earliest train in the morning to support his wife before the hearing.<p>

When they arrived at the courtbuilding, he helped Lady Mary from the car and showed her inside the impressive building. Mrs. Hughes followed in their wake.

Lady Mary was taken to a separate waiting area for the upper classes. Mr. Carson was satisfied to notice that even if Inspector Vyner had lacked a proper regard for Lady Mary's position, the court wasn't going to repeat his mistake.

He and Mrs. Hughes were then shown into the hallway where the courtroom was. Wooden benches lined the walls outside the room and they both sat down – an appropriate distance between them.

Before long they were joined by Mr. Bates, his face drawn. He nodded at the two of them but not a word was spoken. Mr. Carson watched as a court clerk came outside and fetched Mr. Bates for his hearing.

Mrs. Hughes didn't look up as the younger man went inside, her hands grabbing the handles of her small bag so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. Mr. Carson longed to put his hands on top of hers, to offer her some comfort. To run a gentle hand over her lower lip which she bit upon so furiously that he was afraid she'd split it soon.

He didn't know how long they had been sitting there when Lady Mary was led past them. The young woman gave a curt, tight nod in their direction. She was nothing like her usual aloof self. The door to the courtroom opened and Mr. Bates came back outside, his face revealing nothing. The court clerk led him past Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes and out of sight.

Mrs. Hughes watched his progress down the hall. Mr. Murray had told her that the judges would probably not allow the three of them to talk before each had given their testimony. She turned her head to watch a white-faced Lady Mary straightening her shoulders, holding her head high, as she was led into the courtroom.

When the heavy wooden door was closed again, she jumped up from the bench – no longer able to bear sitting still. She took a few turns around the hallway, her heels echoing eerily in the silence before she came to stand in front of the door to the courtroom.

He watched her quietly. He knew that he'd do her no favours by interrupting her attempts at calming herself. So instead he focused on watching her walking around the hallway like a caged animal before she stopped in front of the courtroom's entrance. He watched in quiet alarm how her shoulders started heaving as her breathing increased in speed.

"Mr. Carson," it was nothing more than a strangled whisper.

He was at her side in an instant. She grabbed his hand, crushed his large paw in a death grip. He didn't say anything, simply tried to give her the support, the strength she needed… hoping to at least be steadying her. She didn't release his hand again, gripped it even tighter – but at last her breathing slowed and steadied and some of the tension left her body.

When the door to the courtroom opened again, she quickly let go of his hand. She tugged her jacket down and squared her shoulders. With a brief glance at him, her face white but determined, she walked into the courtroom.

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><p>Mr. Carson wasn't sure why Lady Mary hadn't come out of the courtroom again (he wouldn't put it past her to have insisted on being allowed to stay, to listen to the rest of the hearing).<p>

He was left alone in the draughty hallway, staring at the door. He curled and uncurled his hands behind his back before placing his right hand over his ribcage. This situation uncomfortably reminding him of another situation in which he had been forced to wait for her.

While this time it wasn't a matter of life and death (at least not hers), he was convinced that this hearing still had the ability break her easily and completely if it went wrong. He found himself doing what he had back then. He sent a silent, fierce prayer to the Heavens, wishing for her to have the strength she needed. For Fate and the court to be kind to her.

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><p>When she was released from the hearing, she left the room with her head held high. She didn't look at Anna, didn't think it would do anyone any good – especially as she was afraid that if she lost her concentration, she'd collapse on the spot.<p>

With wobbly legs she managed the last yards until the door closed behind her again. She let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and sank against the closest wall. Before she had the time to organize her thoughts, he was next to her, his hand on her arm, his voice urging her to say something.

She put her hand over his, patting it softly. "I'm fine, it was fine, Mr. Carson," she reassured him, but his hand only closed firmer around her arm.

She hadn't been lying. It really had been fine. So very different from Mr. Bates' hearing. The judge had been kind, the prosecuting attorney well prepared but not intent on making her fall into a trap. And most importantly, she had been a lot better prepared than the last time. The sessions with Mr. Murray had paid off. Her words had been chosen carefully. She hadn't lied, but she hadn't exactly divulged all the information – only those that had been asked for.

"Come, sit down," his deep voice rumbling in her ear. She allowed him to lead her over to the bench, waited patiently while he fetched her a bottle of water from the street food vendor in front of the court building. When he had returned, and she had gratefully taken a sip, she took a moment to study his face.

The poor man. His face was gaunt with worry, his eyebrows nearly meeting in the middle. She withstood the urge to smooth her hand over his forehead, to try and take the worry lines away. Instead she began filling him in on what had transpired inside the courtroom, tried to remember as many details as possible to assure him.

Gradually his face began to relax, his posture loosened. He wasn't leaning into her quite as closely as he had before and she almost missed his closeness.

"What happens now?" he asked quietly.

"We wait, I suppose," she sighed. She leant her head back against the wall, withstanding the urge to rest her eyes for a moment. Her hands rested in her lap and she startled in surprise when she felt his right hand covering hers. She didn't look at him but started smiling softly as she turned her hand and allowed their fingers to lace together. And so, in silence, their waiting began – together.

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><p>You have to admit that this was slightly less angsty. Please leave a review and share your thoughts with me if you have the time. Thank you!<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you **kouw**!

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><p>Not a word was spoken on the drive back to the Abbey. Mrs. Hughes sat next to Mr. Carson, her eyes closed.<p>

She reflected on the events of the afternoon – but her recollections were hazy. She couldn't remember much of what had happened or been said after Lady Mary and Mr. Bates had spoken the words she had so longed to hear.

_"She'll be released tonight. All charges have been dropped."_

There had been more explanations, talk of scanty evidence, of doubts expressed about the motive and the witness.

But the words had been drowned out by the thundering of her heart, by the wave of relief that had crashed over her and had left her dizzy.

Mr. Carson had been standing behind her – a quiet pillar of support – and when she had briefly thought that her knees might give out under her, there had been the lightest touch to the small of her back. Concealed from the others, she had felt it and it had caused her to stand upright, to smile at Mr. Bates and Lady Mary.

"Mrs. Hughes, we've arrived."

She felt a gentle shaking at her shoulder. She hadn't even noticed that she had drifted off to sleep, the lack of substantial rest of the past weeks finally having caught up with her.

They had stopped at the Abbey's main entrance. While Mr. Molesley helped Lady Mary from the car, Mr. Carson did the same for her. They wished the young Lady a good night and then made their way around the back towards the servants' entrance.

Mrs. Hughes hoped with all her might that Mrs. Patmore had been considerate enough to have shooed most of the younger servants up to bed by now. She really couldn't bear the thought of recounting today's events to a curious group of youngsters. Lady Mary had telephoned his Lordship earlier, informing him of the hearing's outcome. Mrs. Hughes was certain that Lord Grantham would have informed the servants. So, there really was no reason for anyone to be lingering downstairs.

The Housekeeper thought back to Lady Mary's suggestion that Anna and Mr. Bates spend a few days in York to recover from their ordeal before returning to Downton. Not even Mr. Carson had opposed to the unusual plan and she had been grateful that the Bateses were given this time alone.

The Butler opened the door for her and she was relieved by the quietness of the downstairs area. She really had to take a moment the next day to thank Mrs. Patmore for her quiet support in the last few weeks.

"You'll be wanting to go upstairs," Mr. Carson's voice rumbled from her right. She turned towards him and gave him a weary smile.

"I'm not sure I could sleep," she confessed.

"A nightcap then?"

"That would be appreciated," she replied and allowed him to lead her into her parlour. The fire had burned low but wasn't quite out yet. Mr. Carson gave it a good stoke and added another layer of coals. She pulled her chair closer to the warmth, and fell into it with a quiet sigh.

He pulled the second chair closer as well before fetching the sherry decanter and their glasses. He poured them both a healthy amount before sitting down across from her. He raised his glass in a silent toast and she reciprocated the gesture before taking a swig.

For a moment she focused on the trail of warmth the sherry left inside her as it flowed down her throat.

"I'm glad that this whole situation is finally over and that we can return to normal now," Mr. Carson muttered – he too sounded exhausted.

She mulled his words over in her mind. She wasn't sure that she could do what he hoped for – a return to the status quo from before Anna's attack seemed unlikely.

Instead of voicing her doubts, she gave a hesitant nod before taking another sip from her glass. She stared into the fire for a few moments, allowing the bright flames to distract her from the thoughts jumbling about in her head. There were so many things she wanted to say, to ask him.

"Why…," she began and winced. Her voice suddenly sounded impossibly loud, had effectively startled him out of his thoughts. She took a deep breath and continued in a softer voice, her eyes still trained on the fire in front of her. "Why did you never ask… about what happened to Anna?"

There was silence for a few moments but she refused to look at him.

His explanation when it came was as succinct as it was honest. "Because I trust you."

She turned towards him sharply. Found him looking at her with gentle eyes, an open face.

Could it really have been this simple? Could his behaviour have been a vote of confidence instead of the disinterest she had suspected? Had she gotten it all so very wrong?

She was aware that if there had ever been the perfect moment to bring everything out in the open, the moment for frank words, then it would have been now. And yet, she suddenly found herself incapable of voicing all those thoughts that had occupied her mind in the past few weeks (longer if she was honest with herself). She was afraid that she wouldn't be able to do them justice, unable to make him understand. She wasn't even sure that she understood herself at this point.

He shifted in his chair and she realized that he was still waiting for a response from her. She gave him a soft smile, delighted in the way the corners of his mouth lifted slightly.

"That's good then," she finally said. Inane. Inadequate. The only thing she could manage.

She stifled a yawn and he leant forward and took her sherry glass from her.

"Time for you to be in bed," he stated firmly and she silently agreed with him. Thought she could actually sleep now.

She got up from her chair but he waved her away when she wanted to help with the cleaning up. Before he could leave to bring their glasses to the kitchen, she stopped him.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson."

"There's nothing to thank me for."

She nearly rolled her eyes at him but refrained from doing so at the last moment. "There is, Mr. Carson and you know it. Thank you."

He smiled in acquiescence. "Very well, I'm glad I could be of some help today. Now, go to bed."

She gave a little tinkle of laughter at his mock order and it surprised her. It had been far too long since she had last laughed. "Yes, Mr. Carson," she replied in an amused voice and with a final smile at him made her way up to her bedroom, feeling lighter than she had in months.

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><p>Thank you for your reviews and for still reading this. I love hearing from you.<p> 


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